Cappy Ricks eBook

Congratulations on splendid voyage.
You busted record. Lindquist, in the John
A. Logan, did it in eighty-four days in the spring
of ninety-four. Draw draft and pay off crew,
render report of voyage, place second mate in charge,
and proceed immediately to Seattle to get your master’s
ticket. Will telegraph Seattle inspectors
requesting waive further probation as first mate
and issue license if you pass examination in order
that you may accept captaincy of Retriever. Skinner,
my manager, had you arrested. Would never
have done it myself. I come from Thomaston,
Maine, and I knew your people. Would never
have sent the Swede had I known which tribe of Peasley
you belonged to—­though, if he had licked
you, no more than you deserved. I want no
more of your impudence, Matt.

Alden
P. Ricks.

* * *
* * *

For a week business droned along in Cappy Ricks’
office as usual, interrupted at last by the receipt
of a telegram from Matt Peasley to Cappy. It
was sent from Seattle and read:

“Have now legal right to be called
captain. Rejoin ship
tomorrow. Wire orders. Thank
you.”

“God bless the lad!” Cappy murmured happily.
“I’ll bet he’s going to make me
a skookum skipper. Still, I think he’s
pretty young and sadly in need of training; so I’ll
have to take some of the conceit out of him.
I’m going to proceed to break his young heart;
and if he yells murder I’ll fire him!
On the contrary, if he’s one of Ethan’s
tribe—­well, the Peasleys always did their
duty; I’ll say that for them. I hope he
stands the acid.”

Glad you have legal right to be called
captain. Sorry I have not. Proceed to
Weatherby’s mill, at Cosmopolis, and load for
Antofagasta, Chile. Remember speed synonymous
with dividends in shipping business.

Blue
Star Navigation Company.

When Cappy signed his telegrams with the company name
it was always a sure indication he had discharged
his cargo of sentiment and gotten down to business
once more.

“A little creosoted piling now and then is bully
for the best of men,” he cackled. “For
a month of Sundays that man Peasley will curse me as
far as he can smell the Retriever. Oh, well!
Every dog must have his day—­and I’m
a wise old dog. I’ll teach that Matt boy
some respect for his owners before I’m through
with him!”